


Silent warrior

by dddarknesss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:59:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dddarknesss/pseuds/dddarknesss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blame whoever you want - Fate, all around deities, the world – they were all conspiring together anyway. In the end, it was decided that his life would be spared and the absence of love ever bestowed upon one irritable Potion Master was to be fixed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - The Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everybody! Sadly (and because of that, this is the only time i intend to dwell on the fact) I don't own the Harry Potter series. But Dominique is all mine! Hopefully, you would read far enough to properly meet her.  
> English is not my first language, as it would probably become obvious at some point, so forgive me for any future grammar farts.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it. :) Leave me some comments, if it's not a bother (and even then :P).  
> Cheers!

 

_Prologue - The Prince_

  
_**Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.** _   
_**Seneca** _

Severus Snape was not a happy man. Actually, he could no longer recall such a state – it had become a distant memory, gathering dust in the corner of his consciousness, along with the hopes of his greatness and youth.

He was cranky, unpleasant and cruel when it suited him. More often than not he was also in pain – weather his "master" had not been pleased and the Cruciatus curse had poured it's creator's viciousness upon his flesh and mind, or the merciless cries of his soul had torn through his occluded shields, barely containing them anyway, robbing him of sleep and any, as pathetic as it may be, resemblance of peace.

Severus Snape was in fact a rather resentful person and he inflicted his pain on others with little remorse. Also, being a great mind caged in the wasting prison of role and pride, for he was if nothing else prideful, he hardly tolerated the presence of mumbling, shuffling and intelligently crippled adolescents as the ones put in his care.

He had though taken his House under his wing, remembering the honor it had once carried and because of the fact that there were some wisely chosen for their strength and cunnings individuals. Even one or two brats with enough brain cells to manage a survival, with enough potential to bring at least a glimmer of hope, feint as it may be, for the future generation.

The Half-Blood Prince was, to say the least, brilliant in his chosen fields, although he enjoyed brewing greatly more than spying and killing.

It would not be fair to say that he grew up in his current self because of the Dark Lord, since Tom had not been much around in his early teenage years, through which Snape had built and solidified his sharp exterior and violent dark nature.

Maybe one could acquire better view of this shadowed soul through the seven volumes of memoirs of one Harry Potter, or at least what was speculated and not stayed personal and hidden between the dusty pages of hundreds of scraped away words, crumbled one over the other in the memories of the ones who lived through hell (pardon the muggle saying).

There was at least one missing personage in the whole picture and at least one false fact in the Great Final… the second final that marked the absolute end of Tom Marvalo Riddle and for the present that day had nothing "grand" about it, except maybe the number of bodies, littering the grounds around the magical school.

A Final that for some became a beginning….

First off, not even years after the funerals the curious fact that no body laid in the grave of one Severus Tobias Snape , secretly Prince, was not released to the public. It was known only by those aware of the missing portrait of a certain brief Headmaster of Hogwards. A fact, which went strangely unnoticed, as most people couldn't or didn't bother to recall the exact shapes of the painted faces in the round office.

As for the personage – after the End, there were not many aware of its existence. In fact, all who were known for their knowledge of that single person were dead, Those who weren't supposed to harbor such information, or even suspect such a thing – and were still breathing – would never in their lives utter of such presence.

Although the story must have begun long ago, maybe even before the birth of one particular Severus, our end starts with a silent warrior, who through the duration of his capture was anything but – silent of course, for one is born or not a warrior.

As a story should end – with at least two people finding each other – our story needs love. Not that it hadn't had such up until now! No, but it had certainly never been bestowed upon the likes of an irritable Potions Master.

So here begins our story…


	2. The head of the coin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After consideration it has been established the story will become an AU after the end of Sixth year and be warned for spoilers. The rating goes for violence and maybe some heated scenes up ahead. I'm figuring things as I go so don't be mad at me. Cheers!

 

 

_1\. The head of the coin  
_

_**"All the forces in the world are not so powerful as an idea whose time has come." Victor Hugo** _

 

It was not much longer after Brian Percival…. and-all-that-left Dumbledore, by the name of the white one, made the person who viewed him as the closest positive father figure he'd ever had, swear to cast the killing blow and end Albus's life.

Maybe a month or two after the revelation, in which Snape had managed to gather his remaining sanity and shackle it tightly to himself, that fateful meeting occurred. The call was just as painful, sickening and as hatefully gloating as ever.

So he gathered his black robes (even blacker than his usual), the white mask of his servitude, strung his arrogance and ruthlessness and resigned his already aching essence to the upcoming agony or the dread of finally shattering the remainings of his soul with evil, stain by stain, until only the coarse void was left in its place. Sometimes it felt worse than the touch of a Dementor.

Seconds later he was nowhere in sight.

... ^_^...

The portkey took him to the most recent of places for their gatherings. It was well after midnight as was proper for a Dark Lord to make his playground and Severus guessed with dread that a Rave would be flung his way, as the muggles and several mudbloods were brought to the open space.

Most of the Death Eaters littering the square and buzzing pathetically around their master, were already salivating, eyes burning with fires of twisted madness and gluttony for power and torture at the sight of the men, women and even a few teenagers brought form Merlin knows where. Severus wondered if Merlin would also look upon their fates even here, with the promise of slow death thrown upon their faces, making their hearts beat faster. His eyes traced the shapes of the victims and the starved body language of their abusers with seemingly no emotion at all, not a muscle in his body betraying the burning contempt and disgusts.

By the time maniacal laughter along with the cries of anguish and broken hope rose to the air, polluting it with despair and the smell of blood, there weren't many wizards left unoccupied.

Severus stood near the Dark Lord along with several of his inner circle but had missed most of Voldemort's speech, since he rarely was creative. After all it was widely known that the potion master preferred the cold pleasures of his experiments than these of slave flesh. This night however, an unwelcome surprise awaited our hero, to remind him whose orders he followed and whose dominion over the words they were making possible. And of course how insignificant his own choices were.

"Severusss, my dear servant, tonight I gift you with a token for your loyalties," hissed the thin lips, but the order to obey and enjoy was clear in the giddiness hidden in the bright red irises.

"I bow to your grace, my lord, that you would grant me with such… price." He let his lips curl over the yellow-stained teeth.

"Oh, Severusss, you will thank me even more when you see her. Kept just for you. To be broken, only as you can."

With this bit of information a new victim was dragged only a few feet away from the Potion Master. The girl appeared around twenty years old, her hair once curly was in shambles, plastered over her temple with some dried blood and dirt. There were deep bruises on some key points of her body, indicating a struggle. Her clothes were thorn, but present enough to express that except for the repeated beating she had indeed been kept for him.

Two of the younger more recent recruits were stirring her forward, her movement jerky but pliant, as if she was trying not to look upwards at whatever awaited her. Or maybe she was trying to distance herself from the screams and the surrounding torture – she jerked when one of the younger, a boy, gave his last sound to this world – a gurging choke in his own blood. McNair always tired easily of the weaker ones.

"Luciusss wanted her for himself," chuckled evilly the Dark Lord. "I was tempted to hear her broken cries while she begged for mercy, but she had somehow lost her voice," he explained mockingly, as if now she was just a waste of space, important enough to use only to teach one of his charges a lesson. "I know you create beautiful specimens of your coldnesss. And imagine her horror when she takesss in the uglinesss of your forms when you diminish these sparkling eyes," kept hissing the snake-like man. A man who had once upon a time been a human, a lonely boy. ' _None of us are human anymore_ ,' mused Snape.

The coldness had taken over his features; everything else buried beneath his mind shields. He was ruthless when the situation needed it, after all – the prize for his sins had always been his soul.

"Look at her" Voldemort pointed his face, gripping his chin with a bony but strong hand.

The woman was trembling, the men behind her cackling with glee, eyes roving over her forms. They jerked her, exposing her face to the world, while their hands grabbed and bruised.

The spy was surprised at what met his eyes, her face was trembling as her body, but not in fear or terror, but in rage – wrath so grate, haplessness so infuriating. He saw her gaze widen when it fixed itself upon Voldemort, but he also noted the recognition and the deadly intention lurking behind the surprise.

Then she moved – it wasn't subtle but it was fast, like she knew how to fight but had not used the skill in real life. Luckily for her, none of the younger Death Eaters expected a physical attack. The first of them ended with a wand kicked out of his grip and a hard blow to his genitalia, leaving him writhing on the ground, gasping for breath. The girl wasted no time getting as closer as possible to the second man, jerked his wand out of his grasp and without a sound, surged forward piercing the eyeball with the wood, going directly for the brain.

The Death Eater wannabe fell just as silently to his knees, already dead before the lifeless body sagged forward. One of the other guards lurking close shot a curse in surprise, but she was already using the first still moaning body as a shield and so the _Confringo_ caught the young fool in the chest.

Lucious' Crucio caught her in mid jump and she crumbled to the ground, with her mouth open in a soundless scream. Either she had no voice at all or somebody had taken care of it. The Dark Lord's giddy and amused chuckles resonated in the air being far more disturbing than any sound of horror. In mild amusement and secretly impressed Severus wondered what could she had done to deserve that, but the thought itself was ridiculous – since when any of them needed a reason.

Replaying the scene in his head he let a smirk reach his face and stretch the thin lips.

"Indeed, my Lord." He bowed slightly to his master. It was almost easy to forget, if one was not looking, that she was still twitching there in the mud.

Voldemort waved dismissively. "Go pet, I need you no more." ' _Like a disposable toy of a spoiled child,_ ' told himself the spy.

One hard look at Malfoy Senior was enough to remind exactly whose price she was and the curse let loose.

Snape brought his mask down and stepped slowly forward, like a serpent collecting his already poisoned pray. He reached toward her just as unhurriedly and using her dark hair for a handle, lifted her head from the ground. Her muscles were still spasming, no doubt in result of her nerves being fried by her won brain, eyes wide and almost black with the pupil so dilated. Even in such a state, she tried hitting him with uncoordinated movements, which barely had her hand lifted off the ground.

She finally seemed to focus and her lips formed 'Prince' in surprise, just enough for the others to miss and for him to see. A second later they were gone. The loud call for Death to come remained.

... ^_^...

He did expect the presence of the knife, just as he had made sure the only weapon she would have been able to obtain would have been exactly _that_ blade. He, however, had not anticipated the reason behind the attack, since he had refrained from using Legilimens on her and was not prepared for the relief that reigned over her face once she realized his identity.

Just several hours ago she had been brought and disposed on one of the beds after her falling into unconsciousness. Severus Snape had not tended the scrapes and bruises, she could do that herself, but several potions had been quickly introduced into her system – for the Cruciatus, the bloodloss and internal bleeding. Some skelle-grow was needed too, Snape had established after closer examination, since two of her fingers were broken.

After making sure her organism was coping the man had stood up, his stance rigid and deadly quiet for a whole minute, contemplating his options, none of which he found in any way appealing. He'd almost apparated her away – almost dumped her in some unknown location in order to get rid of the complications that would follow in her wake, and the hate in yet another pair of eyes. His face had tightened before he'd turned, robes bellowing behind as was typical – as would any student you happened to ask confirm.

A vanishing of his Death Bringer's robes and a few clipped words with the house elves and Severus Snape had left for Hogwards' gates.


	3. Chapter 3

_Reality bites... and doesn't let go. ~Author Unknown_

In order to be fair, maybe it's time to pass the ball to another consciousness that had a huge part in all that fuss – the girl herself…

Needless to say, waking up somewhere strange wasn't that high on her list of problems, since up until yesterday she had been opening her eyes in a cell rather than an obviously well-furnished, if a little snobbish, room.

The change of surroundings didn't encourage her much though. After all, she had no voice, everything hurt and she was still dirty and bloody, although clearly someone had looked her over. She was all alone. Realization that stuck her harshly – it was easier to play brave when surrounded with people even more scared then you, entirely different matter when alone in a big manor (if the quietness was right).

She wondered, if hallucination was a possibility and some of her mates had drugged her and she was still in la-la land – well, considerably way more terrifying la-la land, but it could be a nightmare? After all, you rarely end up somewhere else in time and… well - space.

The first two nights she had managed to fall asleep wishing that she would wake up from all this madness… Following the beatings and pain at the cells, she was almost hundred percent sure it was frighteningly real. The blue prints of viciousness on her skin were proof enough every time she saw a glimpse of her body throuh the holes in the rags that had once upon a time been her favorite clothes.

Having nothing else to loose, since she had been given as a present to a certain Death Eater, she rose to face the music.

The young woman sat up slowly, waiting to feel if her bones would burn with pain – besides the blinding ache that her body excluded in a pulsating rhythm. No house elf appeared and she wasn't sure to be relieved or disappointed – what was she going to do, sign speak to them? And the creatures were loyal to their master, whoever he really was.

True, _he_ was supposed to be a spy, but old Voldie was surely going to find a way to check his progress with her at some point. Also, the girl was not completely sure her melted brain had not made up the memory on its own. Hope was a frightening thing, when it is the last thing you have in your arsenal.

So searching around, looking through draws and shelves, and even a cupboard or two, she realized that A) everything was clean, not a speck of dust anywhere and B) there was nothing useful around… not even a baseball bat. That was until she didn't reach a more homely furnished room with a big merry fireplace. By that time she was already swaying on her feet, so you should excuse her when she didn't really notice anything at first. The couch she had let her body rest in, was soft and wide enough to lie down comfortably, there was a small table with a bottle of alcohol on and several books pilled over one another. She also admired the ornamented blade that hung on the wall, a hunting knife in her opinion. That's when it actually reached her mind. _It was a blade!_

Scrambling, she shoved the chair and climbed fast, breathing heavily after the exercise, and snatched the knife greedily. Hooray for the girl that didn't feel so defenseless now!

She didn't give herself time to think or grieve, but braved the tiredness with some classic stubbornness and slowly explored the place, mapping all the possible places she could hide in. It was definitely better then wondering or sulking in a corner, though after all in a corner find herself she did. In the end it was the whooshing sound of the fireplace that alerted her that the someone – whoever he was, was back.

The woman crept forward as silently as she could (not much, actually) and stuck to the fading shadows – after all, a new day was approaching. Like closure of a chapter, the dawn was bringing the next pages with its gentle caress of sun rays sliding over the world, softer than a lover's touch.

The figure that was revealed, when she snuck into the room was tall with broad shoulders and thin waist, black robes outlining the body, making him more formidable. The man was by the sound of it, pouring him a glass. Our warrior, being quite cynical regarding her own life and sanity, took the risk of getting closer, the ornamented blade held steadily in her hand and close to her body, muscles trembling with exhaustion but coiled to strike, if deemed necessary.

There is a saying about a noisy cat with curious intentions, isn't there?

The moment she was no more than a foot away he twisted lightning fast and nailed her to the wall, his left hand tightly around her neck, squeezing slowly. Struggling in panic, she brought down the knife, aiming for whatever it reached. His other right hand, which should have been clutching a wand, wrapped around her grip on the weapon without much hardship, but instead of forcing it away the man brought it close to his throat and hissed:

"You want to kill me? Why not? Maybe then you'll do us both a favor!"

He heart was beating loudly in her ears, all that blood rushing in her veins with a thunder and yet time seemed to stop when she got a look at those bottomless pools of onyx he possessed for eyes. The young woman didn't think any eyes could be that black. But hey, magic was real. Then the world got itself back on track, as the handle of the blade almost burned through her skin and she released her grip immediately, with a shriek that didn't even produce a sound from her missing vocal cords.

He curled his lips in a cruel and bitter sneer, hauling her even closer before hurling on the side. The muggle crumbled heavily on the floor, with a hiss of pain and not enough breath for a scream, even a soundless one. He stalked away with loud angry steps, fading into the disappearing shadows, leaving his unwanted guest petrified and desperate.

... ^_^...

She didn't expect to wake up the next morning, although her battered body brought her back to the harshness of this highly unbelievable scenario. Didn't such horrors happen only to people on the news, or the bloody heroes in books and movies? These things didn't happen to normal… close to normal, individuals and it certainly didn't involve predetermined time travel! Usually.

She barely crawled out of her hiding place, a cupboard in the end of one of the long corridors which she had chosen because it gave the impression of abandonment and the chance of Snape finding her were... well not slim, per see, but less than any other part of the manor. If she wasn't still so dizzy and hurting, she might have tried to squeak in surprise, seeing the tray with some water, juice and food laid in front of her on a small tiny table that definately had not been there before.

There is a line beyond which one cannot be bothered with surprise anymore and she had reached it somewhere between the last days of her capture with the Death Eaters and the fortune of being pinned to a wall by Severus Snape. So after a few seconds in stillness of indecision she pulled the tray closer.


	4. Thunderstorms

 

_"His voice wove tales of ruined temples - quiet dusty visions and, hand in hand with the Future, in old rags clothed, made step after step, just as spent and nameless..."_

During our added personage's first real meal in a week, we should get back to the center of things – the person, who the powers that be, or whatever magic or god you believe in, had decided deserved a bit of love (although, things had a considerably long way to go in order to reach that point).

Severus might have been a teacher, which automatically meant that he had some sense of… well, _something_ in his case, when it came to children or really creatures of any kind and that supposed "something" would have been kicking him in the nuts, considering his actions (or the absence of such) toward his charge, if it wasn't for the large quantity of alcohol he had consumed in order to drawn the horrors of the future. Yes, they swam well. Better than him on a good day, anyway.

It was by Albus' orders that the girl was to stay in his care, if only because it would insure his ability to form the false memories of her slow death, the spy would present the Dark Lord in time.

The teacher also suspected the Headmaster hoped (Ha, this word should not be used around him! – would muse Snape) that the company of someone – anyone – much more a young woman (the dark man sneered, looking at the heart and the flames – a mere child!) would do his former student good.

The man more like dreaded the presence of another person, since the manor had become somewhat of a sanctuary after his parent's death, despite all the cruel memories. Hogwarts was his home – he could be tortured into admitting it, but he was glad to escape the buzz of human madness that soaked through the stone walls even after the students were gone. So during our personage's meal the Potion Master was drinking tea, spiked with hangover potion, still brooding despite the long hours of dreamless sleep. He, however, you must have already noticed, was rather prone to dark thoughts man (not that he was a pessimist… much) and for better or for worse that wasn't the first (nor the last) time he would be in such condition, after a meeting with both Voldemort and Dumbledore.

That day he locked himself in the laboratory and as usual fell asleep, sitting on the somewhat comfortable chair in a rather uncomfortable position, face resting over his notes and the problem in hand mocking him even then from his white forearm. He was not an evil man, although a great number of students and unintelligent acquaintances, even some Death Eaters, would disagree – he was indeed stern and cruel with his words, but after years of being resented and almost as many years of servitude, he had perfected the limited measures of control he could exclude over people.

He was also alone, his solitude so deeply integrated into his bones, it reached his soul, masking the loneliness with a laughing mask of ruthlessness, eating him from inside.

So instead of surprised to awake in the morning, he was surprised the manor was still standing – somehow, it would have been way more proper for the world to show the sudden presence of another human being between those walls. After a short trip, with no less stern face and no less anger in his eyes, he went for the sitting room, where the knife was still missing. The house elves had obviously cleaned up so there was no sign of his guest. So what in the blazes had happened to the girl?

... ^_^...

The truth was rather simple, as was usually with such things – she was down in the kitchens, since she had managed to find it yesterday, after an hour of trudging around the big manor. She had tried to explain to the several working elves that she was washing her dishes and thanking them, but instead she had been met by an army of big round eyes, looking at her critically. Moments later she'd been steered toward the bathroom, cleaned, bandaged and healed as much as the creatures were allowed. So while Snape had been working on his potions, she had been tended and taken care of.

Soon after her initial meeting with the magical servants in the house, she had come to another conclusion – their lacking language skills were not in any way connected to their mental capacity and communication was easier then she would have dreamed of. They couldn't read her thoughts, at least as far as she knew, but where words could be a hinder, her intentions toward something and the sense of the idea behind every thought, was an open book for them.

In the end, she had spent the night down there, with the explanation of fearing being alone, where in truth she was afraid that the one positive thing in this whole madness would disappear, if she as much turned her back.

... ^_^...

Bandaged, clean, making her bed in the morning and signing something to one of his servants, was how Severus Snape found her. She was wearing one of his mother's forgotten gowns that barely reached her knees; there were scrapes all over her legs and she moved barefooted. The clothe went up loosely following the girl's curves – her thighs, hips and waist, her ribcage and the ample of her breast, flowing to rather bony shoulders and a long neck. There were still several spots of fading green and yellow to remind of her bruises, but nothing to show how severe they had been just yesterday.

Her hair was loosely braided in order to stay out of her face, which sported a long cut on the left side. There was a light trembling in her hands, which wasn't his deed, since she was yet to notice him. There was a small frown in between her dark chestnut brows and it seemed her movements were too slow and precise, which meant she was probably in pain – a result from both her capture and the essence of her treatment.

If he was with all his faculties that day, he would've used the opportunity to lash out with harsh words and wide vocabulary but the simplicity of the picture challenged his angry reaction and then she turned, the girl's eyes meeting his black ones.

He watched her drop the blanket and flinch but then the young woman seemed to take a deep breath, shaking away the panic, and let her hands unclench, before seeking his face with wide gaze.

The wizard almost smirked – the defiance and anger were still there - shaping and boiling, the terror was lurking just beneath the surface, but she wasn't broken. He noticed how she hid her right hand behind her back quickly, but Snape already knew what that bandage covered. He didn't go closer, but nevertheless sneered maliciously her way.

"I was ordered to keep you here until the Dark Lord is convinced in your death by when your useless muggle presence will disappear from my manor. Do not in any was assume I am a better man for not using you. I'm just far more selfish. Do try not to cross me, I am not in the mood for stuttering fools or the company of wandless idiots, who think the world is theirs, because they do not posses the eyes or the mental capacity to see past their noses," he ended menacingly.

For a split moment he thought she was trying not to smile, but whatever had prompted him to assume so was gone, when he asked for her right hand impatiently. The girl moved a step or two back and shook her heads frantically.

Severus Snape was not always a snob, nor was he always so seemingly malicious, although his wrath was always to be feared for he was a passionate man to the marrow of his bones. One forced to contain and guide all he terrible power as means of survival.

"Give me your limb. I have no patience for stubborn children," growled the man, the previous rage igniting again.

This time, however, the girl didn't cower but lifted her chin defiantly and squared her shoulders.

"Very well, endure your suffering then," nodded sternly the Potion Master and with one of those swirling turns left.

This little scene was not one of his best performances, but if nothing else it marked the beginning of an awkward cohabitation, during which our personage lived mainly in the servant's wing and Severus Snape spent his nights away from Hogwards locked in his lab, stubbornly refusing to chance an encounter between the two.

The young woman learned to cook and clean better, also gained back her lost weight, reaching her normal state and regaining her relevant health, with the exception of the blackened wound on her palm. She never did return the knife, although she was more than just weary to use it. She would manage to catch the merry sun rays by sitting outside on the balcony or sneaking in the greenhouses up on the roof, from where she would gaze at the world outside the boundaries of the wards, longing for thunderstorms and lightnings. Her notion of escaping was easily squashed silent by some long exploratory walks through the manor, adding to her hand-made map or marking the changeable rooms. She could swear that one cupboard in particular was following her around the corridors, but up until now she hadn't gotten the courage to open it. Who knew what may lie dormant in there, biding it's time to eat some unassuming traveler?

Sometimes she could hear the 'woosh' of the fireplace, when her host disappeared or came back and tended to stay away from the most inhabited places thus not knowing they stayed empty, because the bitter man who owned them was doing the same.

A meeting was in the end (or since the beginning) inevitable; after all, Fate and all around deities didn't take well to being defied or ignored.

It occurred in one of the most favored places for both parties – the library. That fateful day… um night, she was curled in one of the couches, the small table next to it groaning beneath its load of impressive books; some open, some marked with a piece of paper. She was reading "A Complete Guide in History of Magic: Hidden Memories", but Potions were close behind. She had also obtained a heavy volume concerning Healers and their calling, which would have been infinitely more fascinating, if not for the unknown terms. So engrossed was she in her chosen topic that our girl did not notice the silent man, who walked into the hall and sat on the closest seat to the heart.

Since the young woman had chosen a far away corner with several everlasting candles, the chance of alerting him in any was was minimal – which is the reason why he didn't see her. Oh well, that and maybe the fact that this same night was the aftermath of another double meeting with the leaders of Light and Dark (in the opposite order) and the drink in his hand was not meant to increase his senses. Whatever the compilation of reasons, the result was the fact he missed her presence and even the turning of the pages did not manage to catch his attention, however impossible it may seem. Even the brilliant need time off!

In the end they managed to spend several more dragging hours in a peaceful cohabitation without the world falling apart.

That realization, of course, came a bit after the head of the house-elves – Diddi, appeared to inform them that they had obviously missed dinner and _'it was not good for neither Master Snappie, nor for Mistress Snappie to lose more of their strength_ '. In addition, that particular elf had spent many years in that particular family to be foolish enough to leave any opening for a comeback, so she just disappeared with the mortal threat of bringing their favorite to the library.

At this point Severus had narrowed his bottomless eyes at the corner, while our girl continued blinking owlishly, raised from her printed words.

Neither of the two felt a pressing reason to leave, as both were engaged in a staring match, which the Potion Master won of course.

His victory, however, was short-lived, because she just lowered her eyes back to the book in her hands. His silent fume was interrupted by the trays with food.

That clash of existences, marked a new phase in their relations, with at least some pretense of tolerance - in fact, they started enjoying the quiet reminder that they were not alone, that there was somebody in close vicinity, with a beating heart and warm skin, taking or giving nothing more than what was offered, or even nothing at all.

Later on, when he was sober in the morning and when she rose from a certain dream, both realized none had tried to reason with Diddi about the titles she had bestowed on them.


	5. The Mark of A Snake

**_"To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved" George McD._ **

Slowly their meetings became more frequent and less awkward with the passing of time, although they were also too far in between for their liking.

At first their communication didn't go beyond sharing the same room and one or two sneaking glances. The young woman didn't let him anywhere near her wounded hand and he never asked for her name. Carefully and not entirely conscious they moved from creeping around each other to eating whatever she had made for dinner, when he got back.

The dragging process of building some semblance of trust had reached its breaking point not long ago. Severus had come back stumbling through the Floo with an ashen face and trembling limbs. Dominique had tried to evade touching the man for fear of causing even more pain, but had firmly steered him toward the bathroom and let the water fill until letting hum undress. While his soak had lasted, she'd quickly put together light but sustainable meal for her host and left it on his bed.

Whenever he came home next he would, after enough silent hours spent over his potions, rise from his lab and pass the halls - "checking if the manor was still standing", and after several minutes of more false wandering would find something to do in close vicinity to our added personage.

She would, of course, smile her tiny pleased smile at him – something between pleasure, amusement and smugness, but her eyes would surprise him above all, with holding so much relief.

Their communication was still an issue when the holidays arrived. Dom preferred conveying her thoughts through body language and silly mimics, which Severus refused to acknowledge. He had relentlessly tried to pry the elves' secret concerning their strange understanding, but even Diddi was absolutely tightlipped about it. That encounter had been the source of several hours of sulking and grumpy mutterings, with no less rolling of Dom's eyes. Another matter which annoyed (and secretly pleased, of course) the dark man was the slow but steady decrease in the number of clothes in his care. The answer to that particular dilemma came, when the girl emerged from the stairway coming from the kitchen in his black boxers and shirt, sleeves rolled over her elbows and one shoulder bare because it was too large for her frame. Faced with his narrowed angry eyes and the grim line of his lips, she had just shrugged nonchalantly:

 _"I'm not wearing anymore of your mother's dresses, Sev,_ " she had written on a parchment she had dug out Merlin knows from where. _"Yours are comfy, if you had any old, torn ones, I would have picked them."_

Strangely that was another point that marked the increase of trust between the unwilling partners, with which their 'talks' became more two sided , and in the end our Slytherin dug out a set of parchment in which, when one wrote, it appeared on the others piece of paper. Thus it became even easier as he didn't have to crane his neck, trying to see her words and it was done easily over a longer distance. They argued almost every day and Severus was slowly getting used to her attitude – although he had seen hurt on her face several times during some of his more cutting remarks, she met his words with a smile, a smirk, or a full blown laughter … quietly of course.

... ^_^...

Severus Snape may not have been comfortable around many people, but he was no moron. He had seen his close to forty summers quite scarred from life with all of its faces. That did not mean he expected the flirting (he noticed it, after its first display, but to have expected it – no!), even after the increase contact he would find himself accepting, and especially not coming from _his_ side.

The first several casual touches startled him – she would get close enough to brush his shoulder on the way to bed, or bump it with a fist – which he promptly ignored as undeserving his attention gesture of simple childishness (or did so with a trademark Slytherin sneer). However small and in passing, those touches meant she was comfortable in his presence and for better or worse, there were not many who found the Potion Master's company as such. It was, dared he admit, unnerving (he meant scary – but the spy would _never_ in his life admit such a thing).

Our hero was also not one to lie to himself either, for that was a dangerous endeavor, considering his living and working arrangements. So he could (as privately as it was) admit he did enjoy the warmth of another person, who awaited him home, who sought his company and was a source for a good conversation. What he was also aware of, was the simple truth that, whoever his guest was, she was not a mere muggle – the young woman faked her surprise well but was still too accepting of his world for it to be a novelty. He was also very, very aware that sharing a house and breathing space with an attractive woman, who showed any kind of interest in him was bound to go exactly how Dumbledore had wanted it to.

In the end of these long weeks their conversations had become a mix of hand gestures, mimics, mouthed and written word, along with the sound of the Potion Master's voice. Their shared moments, however, were becoming further in between with the approaching of Yule and New Year, and the increase of his duties as a spy and Head of House.

One of those blessed late Friday nights, when he could escape for a moment, Severus became a witness of a spectacle that would make him smirk for years to come.

After not finding his roommate anywhere in sight as per usual, he quickly called a house elf. Diddi informed him with a strange gleam in her big round eyes that Mistress Snapie was in the laundry room (and of course disappeared, before he could say anything about the title). Dejected that he had to walk all the way through the manor, after all he wanted was a quiet dinner and bed to ease his aching body in, he huffed and made his steps brisk and precise, black robe blowing behind him ominously.

For a moment there Snape was frozen, by the sound of the thud of a body hitting a hard surface, with the thought the girl might have fallen soundlessly, hurt and unconscious. He also managed not to gape, when the source of the sound was reviled before the man's hurried steps.

The laundry hall was almost completely covered with a meter high soap foam, with his guest sliding through the white and glistening cotton-like mass from one wall to the other, dancing in the mean time and holding a large brush, as what may have been a microphone obviously, singing at he top of her lungs, no matter how soundlessly. To complete the ridicule, she was doing so in in one of his shirts, tied into a knot beneath her chest and trouser legs rolled as high as possible.

A second later Snape was sure she had tried for a squeak in surprise and fell comically on her backside, trying to perform a fast, startled turn on the slippery floor.

 _"Sev!"_ she mouthed and grinned, a blush of both exhilaration and embarrassment adoring her skin.

Our Potion Master managed to lift an eyebrow in return, trying desperately to contain his hilarity and stay composed.

Her movement followed a clumsy attempt of a pirouette, which sent a jet of soapy water, flying from the brush in her waving had straight at the man's face. Which, in turn, got her rolling with laughter (causing her to fall again).

Still composed Severus Snape remover the offending substance, trickling down his features and hurting his eyes, and turned sharply around.

Behind the closed doors of the Master bedroom and a few good silencing spells, Severus Tobias Snape let the bubbling feel form inside burst through his lips. He laughed until his sides hurt.

And then some.

... ^_^...

 _"How was your day?"_ she asked, minutes after she helped the elves put the table, her hand first pointing him then her wrist swished around, forming the unique variation of said question.

"Albus persisted after your welfare again, with the notion that surely you must be dying of boredom or be dead, not to have asked for any other company besides mine, the old coot," the dark man informed, sipping his wine, but our heroine just rolled her eyes.

 _"I asked about your day, not Albus',"_ the young woman reminded and got back to eating her fried potatoes by hand, under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Teaching the same redundant basic potions does not get more entertaining with each incompetent adolescent, who crosses those gates. By Merlin, telling the Dark Lord I'm a spy would be preferable over teaching another Longbottom! That boy succeeded in melting his cauldron in ten minutes short, with ingredients, which are usually deemed harmless," snorted the Professor and saw the girl snicker over plate with chips

_"That terrified of you, ha?"_

He noticed she was wearing a huge brown scarf that covered her shoulders and upper body (clothed, of course, in one of his own shirts)

"May I be privy to the reason why, after your new clothes had obviously arrived, do you continue to wear mine?"

 _"Way more comfy,"_ she mouthed and shrugged with that small smile that usually left him with the feeling of being just for him.

The corner of his mouth threatened to lift, so Snape quickly got a bite of his beef with vegetables. The spy suspiciously noted how his roommate was eying his dish intently, before quickly stealing a chunk of his plate with clever fingers, narrowing escaping his vicious fork, which bravely tried to defend its property.

"That, you brat, was inappropriate" he growled. "Next time your wandering hand tries to steal anything, I will chop it for potion ingredients."

 _"Chill, Sev!"_ She smirked, blinking innocently and pushed his plate at him. _"Here, take your apology."_

With an air of righteousness Snape stabbed several chips and in the end she couldn't hold in the mirth; silent laughter spilled like sunlight awakening the world without her noticing.

The rest of the meal passed in the same light atmosphere. It lasted even after they moved in the living room and made themselves comfortable – Severus in the armchair closer to the fire and Dominique lying on the couch. When he failed to turn the page of the book he was supposedly reading for fifteen minutes already, sometimes losing his stare in the merry flames dancing in the hearth, she tapped his knee to get his attention.

 _"Your day had been hell again, hadn't it?"_ Dom asked frowning. Severus' face didn't change from the mask of nothingness. _"No offence, but you look like thestral shit,"_ she wrote and before he could react added _"…and I've got an idea – go shower and come back here._ "

Snape lifted an eyebrow mockingly – when exactly was a Snape told what to do and his home nonetheless – but the curiosity overpowered his defenses. It was not often she would venture to do something with him. Severus was, he knew, not a welcoming person, especially when it came to childish tricks. She frequently shared the aftermath of her more bizarre ideas, which mostly related to new and not always edible foods, a prank or two, a strange artifact found in some forgotten room or a childhood memory he tended to evade – like a baby picture for example. Despite spending all that time in Snape's company and the obvious trust, along with those small exhilarating touches here and there, she had never included him in.

So twenty minutes later, after a 'refreshing' shower that left him feeling even groggier than before, he stepped back in the living room clad in his sleeping pants and a loose shirt. Severus hesitated as she patted the couch just in front of her crossed legs. Her impatient waving and that smirk and _his_ smile, somewhere in the corner of Dom's lips convinced him to take the seat. The young woman quickly turned his back facing her front and Severus felt the cushions dip under the sharpness of her knees. Then, there were Dom's hands tugging on his night-shirt, which made the wizard tense immediately, which in turn didn't seem to faze her at all – until his last day on this world the spy had no logical explanation, why he didn't stop her there. Dom, of course, had supplied many reasons but none of them reasonable enough.

No matter what propelled Snape not to act on his defenses, the dark wizard was soon bare-chested. He had no time to protest before those skilled fingers and soft skin descended. Her incredibly warm hands kneaded his shoulders without hesitation, unwinding the knots and sending gentle fire all the way to his bones. First, it consumed his shoulders, and then moved down his shoulder blades, the muscles of his back, all the way to his waist and then back again, slowly almost like smoothing the skin right up to his neck where her fingers pressed. He would notice (when he had the presence of mind of not being a puddle of goo) her right hand disappear, or trace the numerous scars on his torso – the only indication that she had seen them at all. The only cloth between the skin to skin contacts had been the bandage covering the wound on her palm, but even then he had almost forgotten about its ever-present reminder.

Severus was almost asleep when he realized that Dom's hands were still, safe the lingering touch of her fingertips, sliding over heated and sensitive back. His attempt at moving away was quickly prevented, as the girl stopped and soothed him gently and shifted them both lying backwards – his back leaning on her, body nestled between her tights, head resting a little above her chest.

The girl's fingers continued their own path and somehow naturally found their way in his black hair, moving and slowly parting it, caressing, nails scraping over his scalp gently; ripping away the groan of pleasure he had managed to hold back through her other tender mercies. The soft caress was all Snape remembered before exhaustion took him away from the realm of the awake.

Dominique spent almost an hour, hands stroking the black strands, calming his dreams before she wove her arms around his chest lightly and succumbed to the pull of sleep.

... ^_^...

Severus Snape awoke slowly, oppose to the immediate snap of consciousness that accompanied his lifestyle. The spy resurfaced form his slumber feeling too well rested for the estimated four hours. As was his training, he did not move before assessing his situation and surroundings – the big room was silent, the only source of light and sound being the fireplace; the cackling embers complimented with the soft eternal light of not quite full moon. His pillow was warm and breathing evenly, still dreaming on her own. The room, however, had lost its heat due to the dying fire and the snow-scented December air. One thing was quite different than when he had gone to sleep (if it could have been called 'going) – now her right hand was for the first time in a close vicinity and not guarded with zeal, as it often was the case. Severus took the limb gently, trying not to wake its owner and with a skilled precision removed the bandage. Severus was so absorbed in his task that until he finished didn't sense how tense his pillow had become, although the appendage in his grip stayed limp. Seconds later the Potion Master returned to his task and barely swallowed a curse at the sight of what he found – the wound was covering almost the whole palm, the skin black and raw, as if just burned, still as fresh as in the day the blade had bit her. The wizard felt her stir restlessly, fidgeting under him, when he summoned his wand. The tip cut into his forefinger, with a short nonverbal spell, without even a flinch. Although Snape heard Dom's sharp intake of breath and felt the vice grip of her free hand on his biceps. Yet the murmured incantation was the only sound to rival the quiet sigh of what was left of the fire. Bottomless eyes of onyx watched how his blood spread and the previously torn flesh mend itself; all of the blackness pulling into the center, inking his personal crest into the skin in an everlasting tattoo.

Dominique watched avidly as thin graceful fingers traced the outline of the brand, letting the shivers run through her soul without restrain and finally released the slow breath of relief that the pain and fear were no more.

The young woman buried her face in the still naked crook of Severus' neck, realizing how chill it felt and with some wriggling dug her long, thick scarf from behind and covered them.

The spy smiled a small smile that not many had witnessed in his almost forty years of life and which right now was only for her.

"I will find who you are, what they did to you and why." He promised.

She snuggled deeper into his back, face dipped into his shoulder. Her healed hand crept slowly, caressing in its path, until it reached over his beating heart and pressed lightly in a silent wordless plead, mixed with a 'Thank you'.

And then they slept.

... ^_^...

In the morning we was the second to awake, more rested than he remembered feeling in the last six-seven years and needing several seconds to grasp, what was the tingling sensation on his forearm, since it was far from painful of sickening. He could not remember a soft touch to have ever graced the Dark Marks and the experience was both humbling and leaving him breathless; yet as if by allowing it, he was letting the pollution of everything the brand was reach her. Before he could do anything about it, she withdrew and nudged him up, extracting herself from the embrace of the couch. She mounted 'Loo' with a smile before heading for the door, only to stop mid-step and stretch. Snape's eyes traces every small move until she disappeared from view and only her beating steps could indicate her whereabouts. He stood up. No use sleeping on the couch without a pillow.


	6. The Voice of Future

" _ **We dance round in a ring and suppose, While the secret sits in the middle and knows"**_ _ **Robert Frost**_

Nothing really changed after that morning, except maybe Severus' perception, which admittedly was _something_ all by itself. Snape was a man with firm lines, no matter how thin, defining his world. He was aware of action and consequences – such kind of schooling he had suffered, first through his family and after that under Voldemort's reign and his Death Eaters, along with the long chain of numerous years put to the task of repaying for his foolishness.

Even the fact that Albus had supported the woman's presence in his life should have been enough to bring a sense of horror, which combined with the stoic demeanor and eternity of building walls, keeping others out and afar, should have sufficed in removing her from Snape's line of sight. Yet the package of a beautiful girl, wrapped in a cloak of mystery and out-worldliness was appealing. His libido had also been aware, for some time now, of the fact that some of his clothes carried her scent, that her hands often reached out for him, that her curves and full lips looked more and more inviting with each passing day.

Living and working in a boarding school more often than not restricted the parts of human flesh visible to the eyes, and if that wasn't the case, the rather firm line that being a teacher created was enough to make any sighting as insignificant as it gets.

The Dark Lord wasn't coming after his guest, he had made sure. She shouldn't have been more important to the scary wizard than any other body that monster liked the screams of, yet Voldemort's inquiries had been more than curious. The Potion Master deemed the nightmares caused by the false memories of torture, rape and other gruesome details, worth it. In the end, they were replaced with other, rather sweeter dreams he did not take to any better. At least in the beginning. This put along with the night of comfort he had spent, not anywhere else, but on his blasted couch had changed Severus' view in a way that even a blind Ronald Weasley could sense.

He often wondered which was more suspicious – the fact she had willingly touched him, or the amount of trust the man had bestowed on Dominique? Maybe it was the trust returned and the absence of judgment, which were so intoxicating?

The wizard felt the nudge and moved in time to see her question.

" _What are you thinking over so seriously?"_

"The war," he lied. It came easily these days.

She narrowed her eyes and the shook her head to indicate she'd caught the lie, but didn't repeat the question. _"You are leaving tomorrow,"_ she wrote instead _. "When will you get back?"_

He didn't even look at her while answering - it had become a routine for them even before that night, nearly two weeks ago.

"After the students leave for the halls the Headmaster has a mission for me," he said calmly and heard Dom's intake of breath. "It is nothing serious, especially not worthy of that dramatic gasp, you blasted girl," he said snappishly. Yet, his words had long ago lost their bite.

" _Do you even recall a time, when you deemed any of your tasks serious enough for me to worry?"_ She huffed while writing. _"My hair gets a little whiter every time Voldie calls you, wondering if he would send you back in the same condition as that night."_ The words were scribed angrily over the parchment.

"This is my job," he said exasperated. There had never been even a mention of what he did past the obvious questions of being injured and some new information. Never like this.

" _No your job is teaching dunderheads how to make potions, not atoning for past mistake in a way that guides between two hard places! Just… just be careful and find whenever you are coming back so I can try the new recipe, alright."_ she finished and, without looking at him, left the room.

"Silly girl, I never mentioned my past," whispered Severus Snape to the empty air, with a suspicious frown etched on his face.

... ^_^...

The wizard could feel her standing there – even if the ward had not alerted him, the presence of another living creature in those rooms was so foreign, there was no way he would miss it.

Snape's senses, honed through the years into almost perfection, made him rather aware of the quiet breathing near the wall, the almost undetectable sound of the blade twirling in her hands .The rest was in the reflection of the window opposite of them both. Dom was there, over the line of his muscled shoulder; long wavy hair covered most of her face in shadows that even the brightness of the full moon could not break, she had curled into herself, with knees drown to her chest and hands shifting the dagger. Hidden form her, a small smirk graced his lips and his eyes closed. Several minutes later he heard her exit the premises in the same soft steps she had entered.

... ^_^...

If you ask Dominique, the decision was not hard to take at all – after the long time cooped in the manor she missed the tingles of the open air and the challenge the everyday life presented her. Also, helping Severus was not a matter of discussion or a long inner debate, but rather a decision taken as a breath of relief; as if she had held it far too long in her chest and finally it was leaving her body, the weight receding under the anticipation.

She snapped her fingers twice and the house elf appeared.

" _Diddy, I need to contact Dumbledore. I believe he is not yet asleep."_

... ^_^...

Christmas and New Year had already rolled around the corner. The young woman still had no word from Severus at all, which was going over a week and a half, which in turn meant she was going mental with both worry and loneliness.

Her conversation with the Headmaster had secured her a way to talk with the only person from the Order she could benefit from, but in order to even reach him, Dom needed at least one familiar fire bird (if not and invisibility cloak with it too).

Seeing the withering arm of the old man, had suddenly made it all a bit too real for her tastes – being a semi-willing prisoner in the Snape-Prince manor had cut the woman away from the world she had been so suddenly thrown in, and the brutal honesty of its suffering. Voldemort and his followers were like an infected wound upon the land and the people, leaving destruction in their wake.

... ^_^...

In one of those late afternoons, when she was using the light of the setting sun for her own experiments and training, the owner of the home came back. The wizard was tired, looking even more haggard than usual (and bleeding form several places not visible under the dark robes), pale but extremely glad to be back. In fact, he had not even stopped at his chambers at the castle, but had come tumbling strait here. A compulsion he decided not to over-analyze – his reason was clear enough. Of course, that same reason was nowhere in sight… at least such was the case until a minute later he heard the unmistakable thumping of feet on the wooden floor. Ah, yes.

Dominique flew at him with a look on her face that made Snape dizzy… well, dizzier. Her smaller frame barreled into him in a tight hug, which made Severus' breath hitch from more than the surprise. The young woman immediately released him, which brought a sting of disappointment that of course did not reach his face.

Several dark red spots were printed on her clothes and she eyes him with an expression clearly promising some nagging. In a course of a minute, the wizard was forced to lie down on the couch, Diddy was sent to pick the needed potions and his robes were quickly disposed of. Surprisingly skilled fingers went over the man's chest and the sides of ribcage, checking every gash and bruise. Severus was cleaned, bandaged and dosed with potions in the next fifteen minutes.

Dom was still looking somewhat self-righteous and her eyes would stray to trace his wounds with a frown. She dug up a parchment from somewhere.

" _Are you gonna tell me not to worry again?"_

"I am still breathing, if you need reminding, brat."

She shook her head and sighed. _"Does the other guy look worse?_

Snape quirked an eyebrow and smirked. "I believe he does not have the privilege of breathing anymore."

" _Good."_ She nodded satisfied, to his surprise. _"Are you hungry? Thirsty?"_

The spy shook his head – he was so tired it was a fight to keep his eyes open. He couldn't, for the life of him, remember when had he managed to sleep last time – three, four days ago?

Dominique nudged him to shift and quickly sat in the end of the couch bringing his head to rest in her lap. Making sure he was comfortable and after a stiff nod, she folded herself around his torso and watched him sleep, a hint of that sweet small smile somewhere in the corner of his mouth.

... ^_^...

Dom woke slowly, stirring, her eyes fluttering lazily just in time to meet the bottomless black pits of the Potion Master and her lips to stretch into a smirk.

" _Feeling better?"_ she waved over him, mouthing the words.

"Adequate, as is to be expected after the potions and several hours of rest." Dom rolled her eyes and relaxed, head resting over his already healed chest.

He moved then just enough to grab his wand and to pick her curiosity.

"I was fortunate enough to stumble upon a certain charm, during my last several not so becoming hours in the pits of Knockturn alley." He summoned something from his robes, under her wide stare. "Do not give me that look, you menace, it's not a Christmas gift. It is more for my benefit than yours, since trying to decipher your scrolls does not become easier with time," he sneered and put a small sphere in her hand.

Her confused expression was enough to earn her a scowl. However, under the scrutiny she detected unusual nervousness.

"That face of yours obviously means that your attention span is not sufficient enough to keep you in the library for long, and you had actually never made the effort to learn more of your condition, instead of snooping around." Dom frowned and nodded toward the glass-ball, not scandalized in the least. Whatever that _thing_ was, it caused Snape to babble. Severus never babbled. The wizard huffed in being ignored but kept going. "This even Longbottom would recognize," he muttered and her expression darkened, which made him smirk. "It's a _Vox_ charm."

Her reaction however was not what he expected. Dom was out of the couch and in the ark of the door faster than the clicking noise, signaling the ball hitting the wall and tumbling on the ground.

The spy's wand was already trained on her, face cold and eyes flashing with anger and suspicion. She was pale, her breathing uneven and gaze showing too much white. Those eyes were new fixed on the small sphere glittering on the floor. Then the young woman finally managed to tear her gaze and meet his accusations. Her hand pointed toward his gift and then fisted and thumped her head several times almost viciously.

" _I can't_." she mouthed, a tear sliding down her cheek and fled.

"Dominique! Return this instant! I will find you! Do you hear me!" he raged. "I will find you!"

He stalked toward the same direction but in the end all the elves were able to tell, was that she was no longer in the house.

... ^_^...

Dominique knew she had overreacted and how stupid that particular failure had been - instead of playing it cool and breaking the charm later, she had panicked, confirming the suspicions that had never diminished. In reality, the prospect of finally gaining some semblance of voice back was so tempting it hurt sometimes.

The woman tried to calm her breathing. Contrary to his opinion, she had not only read up on her condition but had researched every possible leeway.

The potion for regrowing vocal cords might have been rather complex, but Madam Pomfrey already had it in her disposal, brought safely from St. Mungo. A weak after taking it and she would have her own voice back.

Didn't it sound tempting?

Her body shook and the girl sat on the trunk of some dead tree, already consumed by moss and fungi. Her bones shuddered with fear over all the possible things she could muck up, if she breathed a word to anyone. Even her bold future talk with the member of the Order was going against every instinct of self-preservation.

What Severus had offered her was infinitely more alluring, not because it would have been the better option – The _Vox_ enchantment would connect her thoughts and essence with the sphere, with the metallic stiffness of a computer. No, it was the gesture. Because she didn't believe even for a moment, he had 'stumbled' upon that particulate artifact. He had gone out of his way to find it and probably spent enough money for it too.

She'd read about the _Vox_ in several places - sometimes it was a dark object, because if the recipient lacked skills in Occlumency **,** all his thoughts were out for the world to hear. In addition, in order for it to filter the exact though one wanted to express, would take from two weeks to a month of excessive training.

_But it was a gift for you,_ her inner voice reminded.

Dom finally remembered to look around. It had been too long since she'd wondered outside – the calm wilderness was so full of its constant companions – the brush of pines, the chirping of the birds and a track of some unnamed creature, roaming the endlessness of its home.

The peace she had lacked for the long moths in the manor was coming back, as if those wards had held it away too, and now it was free to return to its rightful place. Making up her mind she stood up, brushed her clothes and put the shoes she had grabbed blindly on the way out.

The absence of any protection was more liberating than scary, she decided. There were no thought of Voldemort or pain, when she slowly tracked further into the forest; there was only the memory of a whispered name and the warmth the man's body had radiated.

The earth, with its light cover of snow, breathed with the thrumming pulse of the heart, which had sounded under her palm last night.

... ^_^...

The flames flickered for a moment then boomed in green, effectively stopping his pacing.

Albus Dumbledore's eyes glittered with their own light even among the flames. Snape pressed his lids closed for a moment, and when he opened them his Slytherin mask was fully in place.

"Severus, my boy, it is nice to find you in good health. Poppy was most displeased, when you managed to evade her yet again." Smiled the old man at the snort that came from his Professor. The spy seated himself on the couch facing the hearth.

"What is it that I can do for you, Headmaster?" sneered the dark man.

"Ah, yes. I wanted to as after your guest."

"She is undisposable at the moment," was the clipped answer.

"What is the matter, my boy, if…?"

"I haven't been a boy for a long time," cut through Snape. "Speak your mind, Albus, I have a potion brewing."

"I wander what potion requires pacing, Severus, for it had slipped my mind." Dumbledore leaned forward, while Snape glared harder. "Where is Dominique?"

"I do not know and I do not even pretend to care," mumbled the dark haired wizard in a hiss.

The Headmaster stayed silent for a bit.

"What happened, my boy?" An angry look shot him at the form of address, but the words came nonetheless.

"She ran away." He wasn't sure he managed to keep the fatigue away.

"She would not simply run away, there must be…."

"And why not, Albus? I was under the impression that the presence of the dungeon bat was enough to scare anybody away!"

The older man suddenly looked gravely serious behind the moon-shaped spectacles. "This is not like you Severus. What has happened? You were becoming friends."

After a minute of close scrutinizing, one could almost hear Snape's jaw crack under the pressure of grinding one's teeth.

"You do now what she is hiding! Damn it, Albus!" When the elder didn't say anything, the spy continued. "I found her a _Vox_ sphere. She left. Yet I have the feeling that will not be the end of your endless meddling in my life!"

"Would you have used it, if you had a secret that needed to remain so?" Sighed the elder and titled his head on one side. "Would you have risked it?"

"I carry myself with the estimation that the spying I do for you is infinitely more important than a teenage drama!"

"I understand you want to trust her." Snape opened his mouth to object, but then closed it soundlessly, as angry and indignant as in a minute ago. "And you can, Severus…"

"After everything I have done, I have a right to know!"

"She is doing everything in her power to aid us, with or without your understanding. She keeps a secret no one must know. Not me. Not even you."

"Who is that girl, Albus? Why did you send her here? Why are you doing this to me!" asked dejectedly the young man.

"I am doing this for her and, I hope, what is right for that girl is also right for you. You can rest your trust in her hands, Severus." But they both new what the words truly meant. "You should be old enough to acknowledge even such infernal things such as feeli…"

"I am almost twenty years her senior!" The spy cut trough the word sternly, with an air of finality; he was not going to discuss his _feelings_ with the old codger like a teenage girl!

"Have you ever asked how old she is? What she used to be? Or you just dismissed her, because she did not hate you on sight? Go find her, Severus and please inform Miss Vales she can Floo me anytime, as I have what she needed."

Before the meaning of the words settled in his brain, the fire was cackling madly with the red and yellow, bringing back the warmth in the room.

... ^_^...

Snape is, and always will be, more stubborn than deemed necessary for his own good. Some would even dare to call him thickheaded (not in his face of course, with few exceptions). He had always prided himself on his control, and the lack of it in the present moment sent him even more over the edge.

He had not gone after her. It would've been ridiculous! He was not about to go chasing after that blasted girl like a fool!

It was almost dark, as the days were still short and the hours he had spent pretending to do something – anything- besides warring, fidgeting and seething silently were one too many. Finally, even more irritated than before, he shut the book in his hands with an audible bang – the wizard had been reading the same four lines for close to an hour, and swept out of the room.

Equipped with a winter cloak on his shoulders and another one in his hands, the spy headed toward the exit. It was rather a good thing he got a glimpse of the wet, muddy shoes near the doorstep, before stumbling into the freeing night. Unfortunately, he was also in time to see her just as wet and muddy, passing through the Floo.

That was maybe the crescendo of his day (and evening) and white anger shot trough his veins. It was not often that Severus Snape felt like seriously murdering something in rage.

It was also several hours later (two to be exact), when he became enraged enough, to forget he was too proud to follow her, before he called for the Headmaster's office in a hiss, which almost resembled Parseltongue.

Not eve the phoenix was there, not to mention the old man - no sound to indicate a life between the round walls of the tower. However, for Severus, who rather preferred a target for his anger, that was yet another unsatisfying part of his horrible day.

It was most fortunate for any student in the castle that he had no classes and that Albus caught him upon Snape's stiff decent over the moving staircase and the gargoyle stepping out of the way.

"Ah, Severus, m…"

"Don't you dare play with me! Where is she?"

"This is not the best moment for your famous wrath, Professor Snape." It was the title that made him listen. "Your guest is in no condition to battle your displeasure."

"Where. IS. She?", was the rather more controlled but still hissing demand.

"I sent her down to your quarters so no one would see…"

But he was already talking to the empty air, the sound of fading footsteps echoing in the corridor. The old man sighed with a spark of amusement in the blue eyes. "If not inevitable, it surely will be entertaining. Do you not agree, my friend?" He turned toward the phoenix perched in the corner. The thrill of its song vibrated through the castle in agreement.


End file.
